


No Quarter

by BarefootGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s09e13 The Purge, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:40:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarefootGirl/pseuds/BarefootGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-The Purge.  Dean makes a decision.</p><p>(companion piece to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1172418">"In The Light"</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Quarter

He was trying to do the reading the teacher had assigned, but his eyes kept getting heavy, and the light wasn’t bright enough, because Sammy was sleeping.  Not that the lights in motel rooms were ever good – they were either so bright they gave you a headache, or they were so dim you’d swear the bulb was about to just flicker out and die.

Then there was a sound from the bed, a cross between a moan and a shout, and he looked up to see Sammy throwing off the covers and sitting up, his hair matted and sticking up with serious bedhead.  He’d need to trim the kid again soon, before it got much longer.

Sammy looked around, almost panicked, and Dean got up, walking over to the bed.  He knew this routine.

“Dean, where’s dad?”

“Hunting.”

“I had a bad dream.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”  But he let the kid snuggle up to him anyway, making sure they’re both under the blanket.  The reading would have to wait until Sammy fell back asleep again.

“Dreamed everyone went away.  Dad, Bobby….even you.”

“I’ll never go away, Sammy.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.  I’ll always be here.”

 

#

 

 _I’ll always be here._   He can hear the words, twenty-five years later.  He’d always been there, except when he couldn’t, and even then…even then he’d come back. Crawling out of the grave, driving to the end of the world, sitting by how many deathbeds now?

All this time, he’d apparently been doing it wrong.

No.  No, he refused to accept that.  Not wrong.  Just too long.

Dean made the bed with military precision, smoothing out the single dent in the pillow.  This was his home. Sam didn’t want it, had never wanted it.  But he was a Man of Letters if he was anything at all – smart, book-smart, _thinking,_ always looking at the _why_ of things as much as how did you kill it.  The kind of person you kept out of the line of fire, not tossing him into it.

Dean?  He was a Hunter, couldn’t have been anything else if he’d tried, not that there’d ever been that option for him.  And Hunters didn’t get to stay in one place.  They didn’t get to have homes.  When it came right down to it, they didn’t get to be _people_ , either.

And the only brothers they could have were other Hunters. 

_“No, Dean.  I wouldn’t.”_

The only yardstick Dean’d ever had: keep Sammy safe.  But Sam -  He cut the thought off.  Sam’d been pretty damn clear.

_“Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you.”_

They’d saved the entire freaking _world_ together.  Had been willing to let him die, if that’s what it took.  And Sam expected him to do that again, just because he was _tired?_ But…whatever.  Nothing else in his life had ever lasted, why had he thought this would, too?

For the first time in years, he let himself think about Cassie.  He hoped she was happy, that she’d found someone to spend her life with, maybe have a few gorgeous kids, or something.

Most of his stuff was already in the Impala.  Sam hadn’t bothered to come see what he was doing – no reason he should have.  Co-workers didn’t live in each others’ pockets, keeping track of what they did or where they went, unless they were on the job.  He didn’t feel bad at all taking the car – Baby was _his_ , his inheritance.  The Men of Letters had other cars.  Or Sam could learn to ride a motorcycle, maybe take Dorothy’s out for a spin.  At least Dean knew the kid would wear a helmet, protect that smart head of his….

Not his responsibility.  Sam would decide if he wore a helmet or not.  Dean wouldn’t be around to see it.

It wasn’t like he was disappearing for good.  Sam had the research chops, access to information a Hunter needed.  So he’d keep in touch.  Business-like. And Sam could be the person he...needed to be.  

Dean ignored the feeling in his chest, the one that felt like indigestion and a zero-G drop all at once.  He’d been trained to do what had to be done.  This had to be done.

**Author's Note:**

> How many stories are slamming at our brains, after the last few episodes, trying to get out?
> 
> So many.
> 
> So here's another one. 
> 
> Dean needs a kick in the metaphorical jaw, but Sam, bless his heart, is going about it the way that would work for HIM, not the way that might work on Dean...
> 
>  
> 
> title is from Led Zeppelin, of course.
> 
>  
> 
> _Close the door, put out the light._  
>  You know they won't be home tonight.  
> The snow falls hard and don't you know?  
> The winds of Thor are blowing cold.  
> They're wearing steel that's bright and true  
> They carry news that must get through. 
> 
>  
> 
> _They choose the path where no-one goes._  
>  They hold no quarter. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Walking side by side with death, The devil mocks their every step_  
>  The snow drives back the foot that's slow, The dogs of doom are howling more  
> They carry news that must get through, To build a dream for me and you


End file.
